Page 10 of Serpentine
AELLA
They let me use the bathroom, albeit at gunpoint, and then they fed and shackled me back to the dusty bed in what seemed to be a garage of some kind. I thought I spotted a motorcycle in the distance—up on a lift—when they led me to the bathroom down the hall. Now, though, it seems silent.
Even though I’ve been yanking on my cuffs for hours, they haven’t given me an inch. Neither has the bed frame.
“It’s reinforced steel,” a graveled voice says from the shadows near the door.
I screech, my heart speeding with fear.
It’s him.
The one who took me in the first place has been here the entire time.
“So, you take prisoners often, then,” I retort, trying not to let any fear leak into my tone. It still shakes.
A soft chuckle moves through the room as his imposing figure steps from the shadows.
When had he come in?
I’ll admit, I’d fallen asleep for a couple of hours, adrenaline having left me bone tired from my ordeal. Once they’d fed me, the food had zapped the last of my consciousness. But I hadn’t heard him enter, and the door squeaks awful.
“Rarely. But when we need to, we know the bed frame will hold. More often, women get cuffed to the bed for other reasons.”
The innuendo isn’t lost on me, but I ignore how my body squirms under his glare. He doesn’t seem to blink. He’s honed in on me like I’m something to devour, and he’s been starving for years.
“What do you plan to do with me?” I ask as he sits where the other man had only hours before. Dawn is breaking; likely, no one will know I’ve been missing for some time. I haven’t had contact with my father in almost a year, and I just lost my fiancé and best friend in one fell swoop.
He shrugs. “Don’t know yet. That’s up to the boss.”
Funny, I thought he was the boss.
He has an overbearing presence, one that has me questioning my bodily reactions and my sanity.
“I don’t want to die,” I say. I don’t know why I said it, but I needed to tell him, and I couldn’t ignore the need.
“Don’t you?”
His question startles me, and I move closer to the bed frame, tucking my knees into my body. “What?”
He leans in, and his scent covers me like a fucking air pocket only he and I are stuck in. I can’t escape it: leather and something rustic like sandalwood. I swallow, and he flicks his eyes down my throat for a split second.
“There’s something in your eyes, Bambi. Something that tells a predator like me you’re prey. It calls out to me. Don’t you feel it inside you?”
His hand skims down the underside of my cuffed arm. He lets his fingers tease my bare armpit and then hike over the side of my breast. Even though there are two layers of clothing over them, my nipples harden for him, pressing against the cotton of my bra.
My breathing is erratic at best.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him, swallowing as I taste the lie on the tip of my tongue.
“Mmm, I think you do. You’ve been dying for a long time and given over to the notion, Bambi. Whether you want to admit it or not.”
When he straightens, taking his hand with him, a part of me wants to beg for it back. The way my body responded to his touch is something I’ve never felt before. Not with anyone.
It doesn’t matter if I’m a virgin, saved for my husband on our wedding day—the one who’d rather be caught dead than caught fucking me—I’ve never felt attraction like I just had.
“And who are you to tell me what I feel?” I ask, trying to keep him from leaving. Sitting here, alone with my own thoughts, has been driving me more insane than the notion of being kidnapped.
“I could be death himself for all you know. Who are you to question me?” he counters, and I shift on the bed.